Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story
by MadiWillow
Summary: A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton. COMPLETE. Contains graphic content. TxG. -don't read-
1. The Start of Something New

**AN:** New story! Ah! This one I'm quite proud of. Please review and give me your true thoughts about it. You know I love constructive criticism! Nothing really happens in this chapter, but bear with me.

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary:** _A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton**.  
**_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_The Start of Something New_

The Start of Something New

A lot of people have been wondering when, or if, I was going to do this; write a memoir of my life. After all, much of my struggles in life have been documented in the news all over the world, and many people want to know what went on behind the scenes; in my own home my own head.

Other people think I'm crazy. They think I'm just milking my life's tragedies for all it's worth; that I'm _enjoying_ this.

I don't understand how people can be so heartless, but it's true. Even thirty years later, I still get letters in the mail from people criticizing me for how I handled the situation and being so public with it. But how are you supposed to handle these things? I've never done it before, nor had I ever thought I would have to. Maybe in my worst nightmares, but never before in real life.

When something that tragic happens and gains worldwide attention, is there any right way to deal with things? No. Everything you do will receive negative response. But I wasn't thinking about what other people were going to say when I was interviewed by Dateline or People magazine. I just wanted to get my story out. I don't want people to forget.

In case you've been living under a rock for thirty years, or if you weren't born at that time, then you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. If you don't, I wonder why you're reading this?

But that's why I'm here. To tell my story.

To start, anything that happened in my life prior to December 31st, 2005, seems unimportant. Like I wasn't even living until that day.

During Christmas Break from school my sophomore year of high school, my parents took me to go snowboarding in Colorado. Most of the time was spent playing basketball with my dad – I was starting varsity and captain of my school's team at only 15 – while my mom lounged around, working.

Then my parents decided to actually do something, so they went to the New Years Eve party and told me to go to the kids/young adults party.

It was then that I was born. Yes, that sounds a little corny, but there's no other way to describe the feeling I got when I first laid eyes on Gabriella Montez, the most beautiful girl in the world. My heart when out to her when I saw the terrified expression on her face. We'd been picked to sing karaoke together, and I really didn't want to, since I didn't think I could sing. But I just couldn't leave her up there like that, nearly in tears.

So I sang, and she sang, and we were both really good. I think that was when I fell in love with her.

But after that night, I figured it was over. We'd exchanged phone numbers, but if we lived across the country from each other, how could we ever be together?

And then a miracle happened. When I went back to school a week later, East High in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I saw her again, in my homeroom. Turns out her mom was transferred here from San Diego, California. And there she was, in Albuquerque, to stay.

It didn't take long for us to realize that we could never be together. I was Mr. Popular. The Basketball Guy. School Hero. She was exactly the opposite. Unknown. Geeky. Shy. When people would see us together, they wouldn't understand it. What was I, Troy Bolton, doing with the new girl?

The school went into an even more chaotic uproar when they found out that Gabriella and I had tried out for the Winter Musical together and had made callbacks. No one was allowed to be in musicals, except for Ryan and Sharpay Evans, a.k.a. The Ice Princess and Her Twin Brother.

Gabriella and I decided to do the callbacks for the musical. After all, we wanted to, so why let our peers scare us into not following our hearts?

However, our friends didn't see eye-to-eye. Gabriella had a Scholastic Decathlon competition rapidly approaching, as did I with our championship basketball game. Our "friends" wanted us completely focused on what they thought was out main priority. So they tried to break us apart.

They filmed me saying some horrible things about Gabriella, unbeknownst to myself, and Gabriella saw it. For a while, I had no idea why she was giving me the cold shoulder or why she wasn't talking to me. All I know is that those couple of days were some of the worst I've ever felt in my life.

After my friends confessed what they'd done, I did everything in my power to get Gabriella to forgive me, resorting to climbing her balcony and serenading her. Finally everything was all right, all was forgiven, and our friends finally let us do what we wanted.

Along with a minor mishap in which the callbacks were rescheduled to the exact same time as the game and her competition, we were able to make every event, and succeed in all of them.

Gabriella and I went on to star in the musical, which opened, and closed, to raving reviews. On opening night, I finally asked Gabriella to officially be my girlfriend and luckily, she said yes. I'm not sure what I would've done if she'd said no. I definitely wouldn't be here, I know that.

We graduated from East High two years later, in 2008, with Gabriella as valedictorian and me as class president. The two of us also sang the National Anthem together and our two friends, Sharpay and Ryan, sang the song "Graduation", bringing most of us to happy tears.

I got a basketball scholarship to my dream college, USC, and Gabriella got an academic scholarship to every school she applied to, including USC. She decided to go there with me, and, after living in the dorms for a year, we moved into an apartment together starting our sophomore year.

On December 31st , 2010, five years after we first met and our junior year of college, Gabriella and I took a little trip to the Colorado ski resort where we first met, and at 12:00 midnight, as we were ringing in 2011, I proposed to her with a beautiful 2-karat diamond ring. She burst into tears, screaming yes while she hugged me tightly. Everyone around us started clapping.

We graduated college, both with honors, in 2012. All through school, NBA representatives for various teams tried to get me to drop out of college so I could play on their teams. I knew it was risky to decline, since they might decide that they didn't want me once I'd graduated, but I wanted a back-up plan. In case an NBA career didn't work out, I got a degree in Business and Marketing to fall back on. Besides, I didn't want to have to be away from Gabriella sooner than I had to be.

After graduating, we stayed in our apartment while Gabriella got a job as a professor at USC. She'd majored in Chemistry, so in turn she became a Chemistry professor. And I waited around for NBA draft day to approach.

I was lucky. I was the second person picked to play on the Los Angeles Lakers and they automatically made me a starting forward. My dream had come true.


	2. And I Fall

**AN:** Thanks for reviewing, and don't forget to do it again. ) This chapter is like 10 pages long, so have fun reading it.

Actually, you won't like this chapter. But more on that on the next chapter's AN...

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_And I Fall_

And I Fall

Gabriella and I married on New Year's Eve 2012, and lived as a happy couple for four years. She was enjoying her job as a professor for USC more than anything, and it was around this time that I was thrust into the public eye. I was named MVP in my second and third year of playing in the NBA, and I was called the next LeBron James, even though LeBron came into the league fresh out of high school and I came fresh out of college. But it doesn't matter either way. I was happy with what I was doing. I loved my life.

It was in October 2016, two months before our four-year anniversary, when Gabriella and I learned we were going to be parents for the first time. We were beyond excited.

And it was nine months later on July 9th, while I was at the supermarket, that I got the call that Gabriella was in labor. I remember dropping my basket of groceries, causing a jar of mayonnaise to explode, as I sprinted to my car and sped back home to drive my wife to the hospital.

Gabriella pushed out our daughter for a total of two hours and four minutes, and I was with her, holding her hand, the entire time. My hand was narrower and more squashed than my other hand for a few weeks, but I didn't even care. My life was complete the second Isabella came into this world, at 4:03 p.m.

I cut the umbilical cord, and Gabriella cried when the doctor handed our swaddled daughter to her. I put my arms around Gabriella and held her tightly as we stared at our daughter.

"She's beautiful," I remember whispering as we gazed at Isabella, studying her features, as she gazed back at us, blinking her eyes slowly.

"Isn't it amazing that we made her?" asked Gabriella softly. "She's half of you and half of me."

"Look, she has your dark brown hair," I pointed out, running my hand over her soft head, where a few wisps of dark hair sat.

Gabriella giggled lightly. "And your gorgeous blue eyes."

"That's your nose," I remarked. Gabriella added, "And your mouth."

I reached out and put my hand to Isabella's face, loving the touch of her soft, delicate skin on my rough palm. Gabriella and I had make this beautiful person. I never would have though it was possible.

When Gabriella and I met, I wouldn't say it was love at first sight. I didn't fall in love with her until after we sang, which is why I could still say, all through our marriage, that I wasn't sure I believed in love at first sight.

But that was until Isabella. I loved her from the moment my eyes met hers. Looking at her made me feel like I was looking into a mirror, because I saw my exact same eyes staring back at me. Who cares about all those sleepless nights Gabriella and I spent with her for the first few months? Or those nights where she cried throughout the _entire_ night? I certainly didn't, and neither did Gabriella. We loved Isabella with everything we could, and we wouldn't trade it for anything.

And for a few months, my life was complete. Nothing was wrong. I went back to work over the summer for training and, once the season started in October, I started going out of town. I missed Isabella terribly when I went away, so much so that it hurt. There were many nights where I'd go home and tell Gabriella that I was thinking of retiring from the league early, just so I could be with them all the time.

Gabriella shot down that suggestion at once. We had moved out of our apartment to a three-bedroom house, and in order to continue meeting the demands of the mortgage, I had to stay employed. It would be too hard to get a good job in such a short amount of time, and basketball was my passion. Why quit? She said. You're getting paid to do what you love. Quitting is not the answer.

So I didn't quit. As time went by I was able to live through the days where I couldn't see my wife and daughter by telling myself that I was providing them with a nice house and food on the table.

Christmas came and went, as did our fifth anniversary. Isabella was growing into a gorgeous little girl, and whenever she couldn't sleep, Gabriella and I would sing to her. It instantly quieted her down, and if we stopped before she was fully asleep, she'd immediately start fussing again.

And that's how life went for a few months, until April 10th, 2018, the day after Isabella turned 9 months. Does that date sound familiar?

I had a game that day, so I needed to be at the stadium for warm-ups at 8:30 a.m. My alarm was set for 7, but Isabella woke up and started to cry around 6. I quickly got up and went into Isabella's room, hoping she didn't wake Gabriella.

I held her in my arms for a while, watching as her scrunched up face slowly returned to its normal smoothness as she stopped crying. I changed her diaper and gave her a formula bottle. Then we watched TV for a while before I had to start getting ready for work.

I put her in her crib and turned on a stereo we had in her room. In it was a CD Gabriella and I had recorded together, singing our favorite songs. Every time Isabella heard us sing, whether it be live or recorded, she was always at peace.

After showering, brushing my teeth, and dressing, it was time for me to leave. I woke up Gabriella, shaking her gently, before her eyes fluttered open. I remember thinking about how beautiful she was as I looked into her deep brown eyes. I said, "Honey, I'm going now."

She smiled drowsily at me before leaning forward to kiss me on the mouth. "I love you."

I grinned. "I love you too. Isabella's awake – I changed her diaper and fed her at about 6:15."

"Is she in her crib now?"

I nodded. "She's listening to our CD."

She grinned back at me. "Bye."

"I love you," I said again as I swung my sports bag over my shoulder and left the room. I went into Isabella's room to find her giggling and smiling up at the ceiling as mine and Gabriella's voices floated from the stereo. "And we're breaking free..." I remember were the words I heard.

I bent over the crib and ran my hand over her baby-soft head. She smiled at me and kicked her legs. "Bye sweetie. I love you."

She let out a gurgling noise and I couldn't help myself but to pick her up and cradle her in my arms. I caressed her cheek before kissing it. I hugged her quickly before realizing I was going to be late for work. "I love you," I said again before carefully placing her back in the crib and leaving the room. "More than you, more than me, not a want, but a need..."

I arrived at the Staples Center 10 minutes late, much to the frustration of my coach. "Bolton, this is the fifth time this month!" He scolded me as I hurriedly entered the locker room. Most everyone else in the room was done changing, or close to be doing done.

"Sorry!" I remember gasping tiredly, as I'd run from my car. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah, that's what you said the first time..." my coach mumbled irritably. "Just get changed, Bolton."

We went through our normal pre-game morning routine, and as we took a lunch break I called Gabriella. I talked to her for a few minutes before she put the phone to Isabella and I talked to her. I didn't get a response, but it didn't matter.

I called her again right before the game started at 7. She told me good luck, and I said I loved her. I told her to tell Isabella that I loved her too. She assured me that they both loved me too before hanging up.

The game that night was going great. We played an amazing first half, with me scoring a total of 11 points. Half time was coming to a close and our coach always gives us instructions in the last 2 minutes before half time ends. But just as he was starting, my cell phone rang.

I sent the team an apologetic glance before answer my cell phone, which I always would bring with me out to the court during games. The rest of the guys made fun of me, but I liked the feeling that I could always be reached.

Without checking the caller ID, I answered the phone, assuming it was Gabriella. "Hey."

"Is this Mr. Bolton speaking?" an unfamiliar male voice said on the other line.

After another quick glance at my waiting team, I said, "Yes, it is. Who's calling?"

"This is Captain Brian Simpson from the Los Angeles PD. I need you to come down right away."

If I could've seen myself, I'm sure I would've had a very confused look on my face. Ignoring my coach, who was clearing his throat impatiently, I said hurriedly, "Where? The police station?"

"No," Captain Simpson paused. "Your home."

Immediately I suspected the worse. "Why?"

"Something has... happened," he said uncomfortably. "I'd like to tell you in person."

"No, tell me now!" I exclaimed urgently. A fellow team member of mine hissed, "Troy, come on!" but I paid no attention.

"Are you sure you want-?"

"Yes! Tell me right now!" I said, slightly louder than I wanted.

"Well, it's your wife... and your daughter..." Captain Simpson seemed to be having trouble speaking.

I remember feeling the blood drain from my face. "Gabriella? And Isabella? What's wrong!" I demanded angrily.

"They... they're dead,"

I don't remember anything that happened from that moment on until I reached my house. But according to reports from my teammates and some other people, I remained silent for a few moments before hanging up my phone. The coach instantly pulled me roughly aside and growled angrily, "Bolton, what the hell do you think you're doing? We have 30 seconds until the half starts!"

The team we were playing had already positioned themselves on the court, I found out after watching the TV recording of the night later. Apparently, I didn't answer my coach, but instead grabbed my stuff and tore into the lockers, much to the confusion of everyone in the stadium.

I must've changed in the locker room before driving home, because when I arrived I was in the same clothes I'd dressed in that morning, and my basketball clothes were stuffed in my sports bag.

My entire street was roped off and there was a large crowd around the perimeter, trying to inch slowly closer. I ran to the front of the crowd but was stopped by a barrier of yellow caution tape and a large police officer. "Sorry, no one's allowed in here," he said to me in a very deep voice.

The worry and anticipation that must have been stirring inside me since the call suddenly erupted from me at that moment, turning into anger and frustration. "Do you know who the _hell_ I am?" I remember yelling at the officer.

"Yeah, you're a basketball player," he spat back at me. "Don't think that gives you any special privileges in crime scenes, though."

"Fuck man, that's _my_ house!" I shouted. "That's my _wife_ and _daughter_ that have just been killed!" My voice cracked painfully as I said it. I felt as if I was confirming what I didn't yet know what true.

Someone heard me yelling and within seconds a blonde man had swooped up next to us. "Mr. Bolton," he held out his hand to shake mine. "I'm Captain Simpson who called you earlier. Please, come with me."

The other officer stood aside, slightly abashed, as I ducked under the caution tape to follow the Captain up my street. There were ambulances and about six police cars parked around my house, while the front of my house was marked off with caution tape like the ends of my street had been. Neighbors who had lived on our street were huddled in front of one of the houses, whispering urgently to each other.

Captain Simpson led me in my living room, where I found many police officers walking around, examining things. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary here, but I dreaded seeing the rest of the house.

However, we didn't go anywhere else. Captain Simpson turned to me here and said, "Mr. Bolton. I'm terribly sorry."

My eyes burned from holding back tears, and my throat was tight from trying not to cry. I had no idea what was going on, but I wanted to know what _so badly._ "Please... just tell me where my wife is. Where my daughter is."

The Captain sighed. "Are you sure you want to see them?"

I blinked. "Am I sure?" I remember asking, my voice hoarse. "Why _wouldn't_ I be sure?"

"It's a pretty... disturbing sight,"

I could no longer hold back my tears. I felt drops of salt-water leak from my eyes as I stared back at Captain Simpson. "D-disturbing?"

He nodded solemnly.

I shuddered, before nodding. "Of course I want to see them."

The Captain sighed again before leading me up the stairs and into my bedroom, where even more officers were leaving and entering, whispering to one another and holding bags of random items. Some of them were taking pictures.

As soon as I walked into my room, I collapsed. The sight, more than anything, ripped my heart and soul apart. I grew light-headed and remember Captain Simpson saying, "Mr. Bolton? Mr. Bolton, answer me!"

My head was swimming but I forced myself to stand up. I stood shakily, staring from the floor and up to my bed.

On the floor was a large pool of blood. From there was a trail of blood that led up to the bed I had once shared with Gabriella. The trail stopped when it reached my wife, naked and bloody, and in her arms was Isabella, also nude. Part of Isabella's face was completely obscured by bruises and blood, so much so that it looked as if someone had attempted to rip it off. Gabriella's head was more squashed than normal, giving me the impression that it had been bashed. Both of them were also bleeding freely from the vaginal area.

The two people I loved more than anything else were lying in a large pool of their own blood, the life gone from them. It killed me a little more the longer I looked at it, but at the same time I couldn't tear my eyes from them.

"We found this next to them," the Captain whispered, handing me a small plastic bag. I blinked through my burning eyes to make out a small piece of paper, splattered with blood. I had no idea why he'd given me the paper, until I found some lightly scrawled words across it: I love you Troy.

"Gabriella wrote this?" I whispered.

I wasn't looking at the Captain, but I'm pretty sure he nodded before saying, "We found a pencil in her hand."

I turned to him, not even caring that my entire face was soaked with tears at that point. "What happened?" I asked, my throat burning.

"We're not entirely sure yet," said Captain Simpson, his own voice cracking slightly. "But we're pretty sure that someone broke in, raped and bludgeoned your wife and daughter to death. Since they haven't been examined yet, we aren't 100 sure if they were raped or what the ultimate cause of death was."

I remember sinking to the ground, gripping my hair tightly, so tightly that I felt a few hairs pop out of my head. I was shaking violently and before I knew it, I'd turned my head and vomited in a corner.

When I was done, I stood up again, my legs feeling like jell-o, and wiped my mouth on the back of my arm. "How did Gabriella write me that note?" I remember asking.

"Well, we think Gabriella was still alive when the killer took off," Captain Simpson explained. "We think she was here on the floor-," he pointed to the pool of blood. "-and stumbled onto the bed, where Isabella was already dead. Right before she died she must've written the note and held Isabella. This theory can be confirmed once they coroner examines them."

I wiped away my tears. "Wh-why didn't she call 911?"

"I think she knew she was going to die," said the Captain glumly. "She probably thought she had more important things to use the last of her energy on than make a call that wouldn't be able to save her."

I nodded. That sounded like something Gabriella would do. Slowly, I walked forward to Gabriella and Isabella. It made my heart explode with pain seeing them like that. And it killed me thinking of what they must have gone through in their last moments – the fear, the pain. I reached out and touched Gabriella's cheek; it was ice cold already.

And poor Isabella... by the sounds of it, Gabriella wasn't with her when this heartless person tortured her... she was all alone...

I collapsed again, shaking and throwing up. I remember a bucket being shoved in my face, although I don't know who gave it to me, and I started throwing up in there. After a few minutes I dry heaved, because there was nothing left in my stomach to throw up. I looked up to see Captain Simpson holding a glass of water for me. I took it, swishing some around and then spitting it into the bowl to wash out my mouth.

I felt clammy and shaken – this can't be happening, I kept telling myself... They can't be dead...

"I think you need to get some rest, Mr. Bolton," the Captain told me gently. "You can't stay here, since it's been locked down as a crime scene. And I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to stay here..." He sighed. "We've already set up a hotel room for you. After hearing about the murder, the Beverley Hilton were kind enough to give you a nice room, free of charge, until you can come back here." After that he gave me his card with his number on it. "Call me if you have any questions?"

I vaguely remember hearing him say all that, but I nodded anyway. He had a police officer pack some things for me, since I was so out of it, and drive me in my car to the hotel.

It was around 10 p.m. by the time I was finally settled in my room. It was big, I remember, and very nicely decorated. But I don't remember anything else from the room, because I was so torn up inside.

I needed something to do besides mulling over the fact that my wife and daughter were dead again and again in my mind, so I turned on the TV. ESPN was the channel it was set on, and I was extremely surprised to hear my name mentioned on it.

"...Troy Bolton became a hot topic for discussion tonight when, without any explanation at all, he fled the Lakers vs. Knicks game right before the second half was due to start. We still have no word as to why he left..."

I quickly changed the channel, because it made me think of the nightmare my life had become, but to no avail. The next channel I clicked to was the ABC local news, which was in the middle of its first story of the night.

"A gruesome murder occurred earlier tonight in the suburbs of Los Angeles, when the wife and 9-month-old daughter of L.A. Lakers forward, Troy Bolton, were discovered in their home, beaten to death," the blonde anchorwoman announced in a solemn tone. "Mr. Bolton was in the middle of a game when he received the call, and rushed home. More from Pat at the scene."

"Thank you, Kelly," said a brunette woman, who was standing with an ABC microphone right in front of my home. I stared at the TV in astonishment as she started her report. "The police aren't saying much about this case, except that the victims have been bludgeoned to death. All we know, other than this, was that a neighbor phoned 911 at around 8:20 to report 'noise and screams' coming from the Bolton house. Police rushed to the house and found the disturbing sight."

"Pat, are there any suspects?" asked blonde Kelly.

"No, Kelly, none that we are aware of," answered Pat. "Usually in murder cases such as this, the husband is the first to be targeted, but so far it seems as though the police have discarded Mr. Bolton as a suspect."

I turned the TV off at that point, shaking once again. Hearing on the news seemed to make it more final that seeing their bodies...

They're dead, I remember thinking. I'm never gonna be able to hold them in my arms again... they're really gone forever...

A few minutes later, I got up after realizing that I had to tell our families. I flipped open my phone to see that I had 16 missed calls; 10 were from my dad, 3 from my good friend Chad, and 1 each from my other three good friends, Ryan, Zeke, and Jason. They'd all probably seen the game and were wondering what was up with me.

I decided to call Gabriella's mother first, my mother-in-law Maria. I remember dialing the phone; that was the longest moment in my life.

I remember this phone conversation clearer than anything else about that night. I don't know why; perhaps because it touched me in a way that nothing ever had before.

Maria answered it after two rings. "Troy?" she said.

"H-hey, Mom," I stuttered. Maria had always told me to call her Mom, but this was the first time I'd actually granted that wish.

"Troy, I saw the game today," Maria said in a worried tone. "What happened?"

"Um... there's something you need to know," I said, realizing at that point just how hard it must have been for Captain Simpson to tell me such tragic news over the phone.

"What?"

"It's Gabi and Isa," I said, using the nicknames Maria used for them.

There was a small pause. "What's wrong?" she asked urgently.

"They're... they're dead," I whispered.

There was a long silence on the other end before Maria burst into such loud tears that I jumped, holding the phone away from my ear. She sobbed, "No! No, it can't be true! Troy, please tell me you're playing some cruel joke on me! _Please!_"

"I'm so sorry, Maria!" I said, starting to cry again myself. I let out a sob. "Maria, someone murdered them..."

"No!" She shrieked as she continued weeping. "Not my baby... not my grandbaby... no, please, God... why them?"

The two of us cried together on the phone for about ten minutes before Maria was able to control herself. I remember her saying, "T-Troy... I'll be here in the morning... I'm taking the first flight out..."

"Okay... I'm staying at the Beverly Hilton, so go there... not our house..." I choked.

Maria didn't answer; she just hung up.

After than I phoned my parents back in Albuquerque. My father, Jack, answered on the first ring. "Troy!" He exclaimed angrily. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, running out in the middle of a game! You better hope they don't kick you off the team for that little stunt, talk about throwing away your career-!"

"Dad-" I tried to interrupt him, but he kept on ranting.

"I mean, Jesus, you've been working on getting where you are right now your entire life, and then you do this! I can't even begin to wonder why you would do something like that, _what_ would make you think it was okay-,"

I remember hearing my mother, Gwen, in the background, saying, "Jack, give him a break, he's a grown man-!"

At this point, the anger I was feeling towards whoever did this to my family burst out of me and I screamed at my father, "Dad, they're _dead!_ Gabriella and Isabella are _dead! _Someone raped and beat them to death! Is that a good enough reason to leave in the middle of a game? Is it?"

There was another silence on the other line until I heard my mom wrestling the phone from my dad and screaming, "Troy! I think I misunderstood you. Did you just say my daughter-in-law and grandchild are _dead?_"

I didn't answer, but my silence alone must've been enough, because my mother started wailing like Maria had, and before she hung up, she sobbed, "We'll be there as soon as we can, Troy!"

Tears poured down my face as I took deep breaths. This was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. I could barely stand having to tell everyone what had happened...

However, I compromised with myself that I would have to make one more call that evening, to mine and Gabriella's best friends from high school, Chad Danforth, and his wife, Taylor.

I called them up and told them the news. That was the first time I'd ever heard Chad cry, and it tore me up inside listening to Taylor sob the way she did. I was so drained that I asked them to inform the rest of our 'group', indicating our group of friends from high school that we're still very close to. Thinking back, I don't know why I asked my two best friends to painfully explain to everyone else what had happened, but I was hurting so much from having to say it three times myself that I didn't even think.

After they promised that they would call everyone that night and get on the first flight over with their two-year-old son, Caleb, we hung up.

And I went to sleep...

Since my life was a nightmare, my dreams became normal. I dreamt I was at home with Gabriella and Isabella, cooking dinner for them, watching proudly as Gabriella giggled her tinkling laugh as she tickled Isabella, who'd inherited her laugh from her mother.

When I woke up, crying, I remembered what _really_ was real... my worst nightmare.


	3. Of the Hours

**AN:** Not much happens in this chapter; it's more like the aftermath of the murders. I know, I know, I'm extremely cruel, but I don't enjoy killing people off! It's kinda like the saying, you write what you know. Besides, over half of the HSM stories are happy ones. I'm joining the ranks of the authors who write tragedy, just because not all life is happy.

BTW I have, like, really emo chapter titles for this story. I got them all off the HP section. :)

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_Of the Hours_

Of the Hours

The day after Gabriella and Isabella's murders, Maria and my parents both flew in. Maria arrived first and was escorted to my room by the manager, who promised to give her a free room as well. I wondered why the nicest hotel chain in the world were so willingly renting out their rooms for free, but I guess since the Hiltons had so much money they wouldn't even notice the difference if they let everyone stay in their hotels free for a year.

Maria and I embraced tightly when she arrived, and she sobbed in my shoulder. She was so hysterical that I grew worried; I'd never seen anyone so distraught before in my life. She kept wailing, "Not my Gabi... poor Isa..." Her cheeks were stained with the dried tears that had been pouring down them for the past 12 hours.

My parents arrived about two hours after Maria. They sat on my couch (after we were informed that they were given a room as well), my dad cradling my mom, and cried. We sat in my room for most of the morning, too upset and drained to do much. The air was thick with emotion, and I can vaguely remember the stench of salt-water tears floating around.

At around noon, my mother asked if we could see them.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea..." I remember mumbling, thinking about my own reaction after seeing them.

"I want to see my babies," Maria had said defiantly, standing up. My parents had stood up too. The three of them stared at me.

I sighed. "Okay. I'll give Captain Simpson a call." I remembered the card he'd given me the night before and took it out of my pocket to phone him. When he answered I told him why I was calling and he said he'd meet me at my house, where he warned there were detectives examining the scene.

We asked the concierge at the hotel to call us a cab, but instead they insisted on driving us in a limo. Although unnecessary, we agreed.

When we arrived at my house, I felt my stomach churn dangerously. Inside that house, my wife and daughter lay dead... in the house we'd called home.

Captain Simpson greeted us as the limo driver opened the door and we exited. I introduced him to my parents and Maria as he led us inside.

Before we entered my bedroom, which was filled with detectives making notes and taking photographs, Captain Simpson stopped my parents and Maria and said to them, "The sight ahead is extremely disturbing. I want to make absolutely sure that you're ready to see it."

The three of them nodded defiantly, blinking back tears. The Captain nodded and led them inside, where Gabriella and Isabella were still lying, naked and beaten. Maria screamed when she saw them and collapsed onto the ground, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. My mother turned and started to weep into my father's chest. He put his arms around her and held her close, tears dripping off his own face.

I let out a sob, but the sight didn't shock me as much as it had the night before. The tears still came out, though I was amazed I still had some left in me, before I turned to the Captain.

"Is there a murder weapon?" I asked, remembering I hadn't seen one the night before.

He sighed and shook his head. "We found none at the crime scene, although, after examining their injuries, we're pretty sure the weapon was a golf club, or some other thin, metal instrument."

"They were beaten to death..." I whispered, horrified, "...by a golf club?"

The Captain nodded grimly.

I swallowed, tasting salty tears. "Have they been examined to know if..." I trailed off, but Captain Simpson knew what I meant.

"Yes, they both were sexually assaulted," He nodded sadly. "There was semen found around both of their vaginal areas and..." He faltered before clearing his throat and continuing, "-and some on your daughter's mouth."

After hearing that, I felt some bile rise up in my throat. I managed to control myself before stuttering, my throat tight, "H-her mouth?"

He nodded gloomily. "Yes. We've collected some semen samples to test in the lab. Hopefully we can match it up with someone."

After my parents had seen enough, we went back to our hotel and found my seven oldest friends from high school exiting a couple cabs in front of the hotel. Two of my good friends, as I've previously mentioned, are Sharpay Baylor and Ryan Evans, the Tony-award winning Broadway performers, Sharpay's husband, Zeke Baylor, and their three-year-old son, Tony (no, that's not a coincidence). I'm also good friends with Chad Danforth, also previously mentioned, a member of the Sacramento Kings, his wife Taylor, and their son.

I led them all upstairs to my room, while Maria and my parents retreated to their own respective rooms. My friends Jason and Kelsi Cross, Kelsi then being four months pregnant, sat on my bed as Kelsi sobbed into Jason's chest. Gabriella and I had been Kelsi's first real, true friends, as she had always reminded us. Gabriella's death had definitely hit her hard.

Ryan sat on the couch, next to the window, with his then-fiancé, now wife, Riley, stroking her hair as she cried. Riley had not been a friend in high school, but Gabriella had met her while we were at USC; she was the one who'd introduced her to Ryan. They were very close. Everyone who knew Gabriella couldn't help but feel drawn to her.

They asked to see her and Isabella's bodies, but I pleaded with them to wait until the next day. I'd just seen them a few hours earlier – I couldn't bear to see them again.

We sat in my room for a while, silent, before we found ourselves talking about Gabriella. We were reminiscing about her; retelling our favorite memories.

"I remember when I first saw her with you," said Sharpay with a watery smile. Her son sat on her lap, patting her on the arm. "I was thinking, 'why is Troy Bolton showing around the new girl?' I wanted you all for myself." She let out a sob, and Tony looked up. He took her hand and brushed at her tears, saying, "Don't cry, mommy."

Sharpay didn't answer; she just shook her head and closed her eyes tight, trying to stop the tears from leaking out. Tony stood on her lap and hugged her, his dark skin and black curly hair brushing her tear-stained face. Zeke leaned over and rubbed his son on the back, encircling his other arm around Sharpay's waist.

"And we were so angry when we found out you two were auditioning for the musical," Ryan piped up, her voice cracking. Riley sat next to him, her hand on his knee. "We couldn't even stand to think about the possibility that we might not be in the next musical... now it seems so trivial that, back then, that was our biggest worry in the world."

Taylor choked out, "And remember what we did to them?" She said, looking around at her husband, Jason, and Zeke. "We tried to break them up by taping Troy saying those horrible things... I just can't believe we did that... I'm so sorry Troy."

I shook my head. "No, don't worry about it. We made up. Don't beat yourself up over that."

"Oh, I can't stand this!" Kelsi nearly screamed in agony. She picked up my TV remote and switched it on. The channel was still switched to ABC, much to our dismay, as the national news had just started.

We all stared at the TV, stunned, as the famous anchorwoman reported, "Last night, Troy Bolton fled the L.A. Lakers/New York Knicks game, much to the confusion and suspicion of sports fans everywhere. That is, until the news broke that his twenty-seven-year old wife, Gabriella Montez-Bolton, and their nine-month old daughter, Isabella Bolton, had been murdered. As Captain Simpson of the Los Angeles Police Department was leaving the station earlier today, he said this much."

The scene cut away from the red-haired anchorwoman to Captain Simpson, pushing through a crowd of reporters and paparazzi at the front of the L.A.P.D. He was saying, "The only thing I can confirm is that they died last night. Don't ask me anything else. When Mr. Bolton decides to release all the details to the public, you'll all be the first to know."

It switched back to the anchorwoman, who said, "All that's known is that Mrs. Bolton and their daughter were bludgeoned to death in their Los Angeles home sometime around 8:20 p.m. Reports that they were sexually assaulted remain unconfirmed."

"Can we please turn this off?" I remember asking weakly, feeling as if I were about to explode. There were so many emotions running around my head that I felt like I was going to pass out. Kelsi quickly turned it off and looked at me, her eyes shining with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," I answered hoarsely, standing up. "I need to make a phone call," I announced, wanting to get away from their saddened expressions. Even though I didn't want to, I decided to call my coach, as I still had to work out what I was going to do for the rest of the basketball season.

My coach told me I could have the rest of the season off, mostly because the owners of the team were afraid I wouldn't play my best. But I was grateful, since the last thing I wanted to do was play in tomorrow night's Florida game. I promised I'd be able to get back to the team come training in July.

The next morning, Officer Simpson called me and told me that they had collected a couple more DNA samples from the scene; some hairs and bits of skin they'd found under Gabriella's fingernails. He asked if it was okay if they sent the bodies down to the morgue, as they didn't need them anymore. I said okay; no longer would I have to see Gabriella and Isabella in that horrifying position.

I took my friends down there (in another limo) at around 10, after we'd all woken up and eaten a little. I didn't eat, however; I barely had since the murderers. Taylor tried to get me to have a slice of toast, but I just couldn't. The thought of eating when Gabriella was dead made my stomach resist food.

Gabriella and Isabella hadn't been cleaned up quite yet when we got there. They were still naked, with dried blood all over their bodies. The only thing different about them was their position; when we got there they were lying in coffins.

Taylor and Kelsi both broke down when they saw their bodies, which in turn caused Caleb, Taylor's son, to cry too. Chad comforted his wife and son while Jason soothed Kelsi. I swallowed my tears, surprised I even had some left.

Sharpay screamed at the sight of Isabella. Half of her face still looked as though it had been torn off, and my heart seemed to explode. 'Why didn't I just miss that game? _Why_ did I have to go to work that day?' I was thinking.

It was then that I realized Isabella's coffin had to be a closed casket at the funeral. I didn't want it to be, but Sharpay had always been a fan of slasher movies. For her to scream at something like that would almost guarantee that most of the other guests would get sick looking at her. As much as I wanted people to be able to say good-bye to her properly, I knew it wouldn't work out that way. My nine-month-old daughter was going to have to be buried in a closed casket.

On our way back to the hotel, the three girls decided that they would go shopping to buy a nice dress for Gabriella and Isabella to be buried in. They asked if I wanted to go, but I knew I wouldn't be much help. I didn't care what they were buried in, as long as they didn't have to go down naked.

The limo dropped the guys, Tony, Caleb, and I off at the hotel while the three girls went to buy the dresses. We returned to my room, where my newspaper had been stuffed into the crack between the door and floor. I remember picking it up without looking and tossing it onto the couch. Ryan grabbed it and stared at the front page, his face pale, before saying, "Troy, you might wanna take a look at this."

He handed it to me, and I glanced at it, not knowing what was on there, where I saw the huge headline, "Basketball Star's Family Found Murdered." There was a picture of me and Gabriella on our wedding day, and an article about the killings.

I remember feeling light-headed after reading that. My world was spinning, and I vaguely remember sitting down. Why was this in the newspaper? I was thinking. Why is it on the national news? Why does everyone care so much? I just wanted everyone to leave me alone.

Later that afternoon, the Captain called me and told me that a cleaning service the police department had hired, free of charge, had completed fixing up my room and I could go back. So that night, I packed up the little stuff I'd brought with me to the hotel and moved back home.

It was strange standing in my room again, seeing the blankets sparkle at me, completely spotless. Looking around, I was happy to see that all of the blood had been cleaned up. However, it made me nauseous when I thought about how the Captain had informed me that they'd been there for six hours. It took six hours to clean up all the blood.

As I unpacked, I saw that one thing had been left behind. The small note with the vague writing of "I love you Troy" was sitting on my night table, along with a note from Captain Simpson. He wrote that he thought I might want to have it.

Feeling eternally grateful for Captain Simpson's thoughtfulness and generosity, I picked up the paper and cradled it in my hand. Even though my wife and daughter were dead, brutally murdered, with the killer not yet caught, I felt slightly better to know that I was the last thing on my wife's mind before she passed away.


	4. Forever and a Day

**AN:** Lalala updates. They're fun. So I posted a one-shot, entitled _Gabriella_ (how do I think of these things:-P). I like the plot of it, but not how I executed it... oh well. Read and tell me your thoughts.

So I got yet another idea for a semi-tragic story, and, I gotta tell ya, these tragedy stories are bringing me down. I really want to write a happy Troy/Gabriella story, but I just can't think of one! It's so much easier to think of an original tragic story than an original happy story. But I'm going to write a happy story, I promise you! I just need to think of one.

OR, better yet, I could write a sequel to _Time Will Tell_! Hm... oh, the possibilities...

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_Forever and a Day_

Forever and a Day

The next few days were spent with me playing host to distant friends and relatives, all in town to grieve for the loss of Gabriella and Isabella. Even some of my third cousins whom I haven't seen since my wedding came to my house. Since this case had become such a huge media story, the Beverley Hilton was offering free hotel rooms to anyone of my family and friends who'd come for the funeral. Needless to say, more than half of the rooms were filled up.

I also had to spend much of time fielding off calls from various reporters, news shows, and magazines. Dateline, The Today Show, 60 Minutes, 20/20, Regis & Kelly, and The View all wanted to do interviews with me, and People magazine wanted to do a story on the murders. My not returning calls didn't stop them from printing the story, but they kept calling for interviews or statements.

To try and stop the calls, Captain Simpson suggested I do a nationally televised press conference on the murders. I was hesitant to at first, but the Captain encouraged it; he said that the press would start printing stories of me being the murderer if I didn't make a public appearance. It made people think of Scott Peterson.

So, about five days after the murders, I spoke in front of the L.A.P.D., before fifty various reporters and ten or so TV news cameras, on what had happened, how much of an effect it had had on me, and when we were holding the memorial service. Later, my parents told me that every single news station they'd turned to during the conference were showing it.

The hair and skin DNA results had yet to return to the lab at the time of the funeral, exactly one week after the murders; according to Officer Simpson, there'd been some kind of delay. However, he swore that they'd be in within the next week. I could barely stand it; I wanted to know who'd murdered my family right away. It was tearing me up inside not knowing.

The funeral was held in the largest church in the Los Angeles area, and with good reason. Around 400 people showed up to pay their respects to my wife and daughter, along with photographers and news cameras, and it touched me to think that so many people cared. A couple people I talked to had come all the way from Maine, which really hit me hard.

During the service, Maria Montez spoke, along with Taylor Danforth and Ryan Evans. Maria and Taylor had barely been able to get any words out due to their immense sobbing, but Ryan was able to better control himself. He talked about how much Gabriella had changed his life, how she was like a sister to him, he wished she could've gone to his wedding and seen his own children being born, and how she and Isabella didn't deserve their fate. Half of the gathers cried after his eulogy.

I spoke last, and although I don't remember at all what I said, I do remember that the entire church was crying once I sat back down. I think I talked about how Gabriella and I had gotten together and how Isabella had changed our lives so much, for the better, but I can't be sure.

After that, my close family and friends and I stood next to their coffins (Gabriella was in a gorgeous pink dress and pink shoes, while Isabella was wearing a powder blue dress, except no one could see it due to the closed casket) for an hour and a half while everyone paid their respects. It was so draining for me that I only made it half an hour before I started to weep with everyone else.

Afterwards, we took three limos down to the grave site. Isabella and Gabriella were buried right next to each other, and just before they were lowered into the ground, I opened up their coffins. Everyone gasped in horror when I opened Isabella's but I ignored them. I placed her favorite pink toy bear in her arms and on top of her heart, I set down a CD that Gabriella and I had recorded ourselves onto, singing Isabella's favorite songs. It was the CD that was playing the last time I saw my daughter alive.

I closed Isabella's coffin and then opened Gabriella's. She looked so peaceful, it was hard to believe she'd been brutally slaughtered. I ran my hand over her soft, ice cold cheek and through her hair. I swallowed a sob before placing a framed picture of the three of us taken just weeks earlier. It had been taken by Gabriella's mother; the three of us had flour on our faces as we stood around the kitchen table where we'd been trying to make cookies from scratch. Gabriella was holding Isabella in her arms, who'd also managed to get some flour on her face, and I had my arms around the two of them. We were all laughing. It was the last picture we'd taken together as a family.

A couple of tears dripped down my nose and splattered the picture. I whispered, "I love you both," before closing the casket and allowing them to be buried. My mother wrapped her arms around my neck and wept while my dad patted her on the back. I hugged my mom back and sobbed, watching the two loves of my life being lowered into the ground, forever.

After the service, my close family and friends came over to my house for wine and hors d'oeuvres. The whole afternoon was spent with me being approached by people apologizing over and over again about my loss. I know they all meant well, but it began to irritate me after a while and I was happy when everyone left.

I turned on the news and wasn't surprised to see the reporter talking about my family.

"Earlier this afternoon, the memorial service for Gabriella and Isabella Bolton was held in the St. Mary's Church, located in downtown Los Angeles. Speaking at the funeral was Maria Montez, Gabriella's widowed mother, Taylor Danforth, best friend of the victims and husband of Kings player Chad Danforth, Ryan Evans, the famous theatre performer, and Troy Bolton himself."

The camera cut from the anchorman to a clip of Ryan talking during the service.

"...of us who knew Gabriella knew that she was one of the sweetest, kindest person on Earth. It didn't seem to any of us that she had a single enemy in the world, which makes this murder even more shocking. Who would want to do this to an amazing girl and her innocent daughter? What kind of viscous monster could kill them like this?"

The image cut back to the anchorman, who said, "Earlier this week, Troy Bolton held a press conference to discuss the murders, and urged anyone with information to please come forward. Anyone with information would be rewarded with $500,000. Also earlier in the week, Captain Brian Simpson, head of the L.A. Police Department, confirmed the cause of death to be severe head trauma. He said that both victims had been sexually assaulted, and semen collected from the crime scene is being examined, among other DNA samples."

I never slept at night anymore. Nights were spent with me lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling that Gabriella and I had once stared at together when we would discuss things late into the night. I no longer had someone I could talk to anything about; someone had ripped that person violently from my life, and I was left alone. My nights instead consisted of me thinking back to my wife and daughter, not letting myself forget them one little bit. I would smell their clothes and pillows to make sure I never forgot their scent. And whenever I did fall asleep, I had terrible nightmares.

When the murders first happened, my dreams, as stated in Chapter 2, were more like real life, as it felt like my own life had become a nightmare. But when things started to settle in, my dreams became dreams again, and horrible ones at that. I would sometimes dream that I was Gabriella or Isabella, being tortured and murdered, the same fear and hysterics running through my body that had most likely ran through theirs. Sometimes I was watching the scene; those dreams always ended with me waking up by vomiting. And a couple times, _I_ was the killer. Those dreams scared me more than anything else.

A couple days after the funeral, after all of my friends and family had gone back home and I was all alone, Captain Simpson called me to tell me that the results from the tested skin, hair, and DNA samples had come back and for me to come to the station immediately. I naturally rushed their as fast as I could; I think I got there within three minutes of the call.

The samples had matched up with a man named Bailey Martin, who'd been arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol four years earlier. He looked a bit like David Spade, with the blonde hair and blue eyes; the only big difference Troy could tell between the two was that this man was clean-shaven. Definitely not someone that looked capable of murder.

"Will it be hard to arrest him?" I remember asking Captain Simpson as we piled into police cars on our way to visit Mr. Martin, who lived some thirty minutes away. "I mean, I don't really know any legal stuff, but we have his DNA."

The Captain shrugged. "Who knows. It depends on what the judge says. He could say that he wants more evidence, or he could decide that the DNA is enough. There have been rape and murder cases where a person's DNA was found on the victim and under the victim's fingernails but they didn't get arrested."

None of that made sense to me. To me, if someone's DNA was found all over a murdered person, they must be the ones who did it, right?

We drove across town to a different set of suburban houses and went to Bailey Martin's house. I don't know what happened, or how it came over me, but the sight of him when he answered the door enraged me. I was convinced that this was the man who had destroyed my life, and, as soon as the door opened, I cocked my arm back and punched Bailey Martin in the face.

Almost immediately, the officers who had come with us grabbed me and held me back, but I kept struggling. "You bastard," I remember growling. "You killed my family, you fucking-,"

"Troy!" Captain Simpson said in alarm. He'd seen me wracked with grief over the murders for over a week, and this was the first time he'd seen me in such a rage. "Troy, we don't know if this is the man who killed Gabriella and Isabella. I need you to calm down. Please don't make me arrest you."

I was breathing heavily, but I nodded anyway. I rubbed my knuckles, which were throbbing from the impact, and glared down at Bailey, who was lying on the ground, his cheek swollen. A woman who greatly resembled Catherine Zeta-Jones was bent over him.

"What is the meaning of this?" she cried in an Australian accent. "What makes you think you have the right to show up at my house and starting beating up my brother for no reason whatsoever?"

"We apologize for that, miss," said Captain Simpson. The woman helped up her brother and stood, glaring at me.

"Shouldn't _you_ apologize? You're the one who hit him!" She spat.

I glanced at Captain Simpson, who had his eyebrows raised, and shook my head. "I won't apologize."

The woman crossed her arms indignantly as her brother said hoarsely, "Um, why don't you all come in... come sit here and we can get to the bottom of this..." He talked in the same accent as his sister.

I started to follow but his sister stopped me. "I want to know why you're not apologizing!" she screeched.

"Because," I said irritably, hot fury still coursing through my body. "You're brother is a suspect in the murder of my wife and daughter, okay?" I pushed passed her, into the living room, and sat down next to Captain Simpson on the sofa. Bailey sat down across from us, in a large, antique-looking chair, with his sister standing behind him, looking dazed.

"Mr. Martin, my name is Captain Brian Simpson," said the Captain, holding out his hand to shake Bailey's. "I work for the L.A.P.D. This here is Troy Bolton."

I didn't hold out my hand; I just nodded my head slightly.

"Nice to meet you," said Bailey. "Oh, and this is my sister, Christina." Christina also nodded in acknowledgement. "Now, why are you here and why did Mr. Bolton attack me?"

"You wanna know why I hit you? Because you-," I started viciously, but Captain Simpson held up his hand to silence me.

"Mr. Martin, were you aware that Mr. Bolton's wife and nine-month old daughter were murdered a little over a week ago?" asked Captain Simpson.

"No," said Bailey coolly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his sister give him a strange look, and I knew he was lying.

"How could you not?" I asked nastily. "It's been all over the news and papers, especially in this area."

Bailey stared me down, and said, in the same cool tone, "I was unaware."

"Well, Mr. Martin," the Captain's voice was a little cooler, due to the fact that he also was suspicious. "Can you explain how your skin and hair DNA was found under one of the victim's fingernails? Or that your semen was found on both of the victims?"

"Why, no, I cannot, Mr. Simpson," said Bailey, displaying such a fake expression of surprise that I almost laughed. "Perhaps someone framed me?"

"How was someone able to get a hold of your semen?" I spat.

Bailey just shrugged. "Search me."

The Captain and I exchanged incredulous glances, both of us thinking the same thing; this guy was almost _gloating_ about the murder. He was definitely guilty and yet so confident that he would get off that he didn't care about how obvious he was sounding.

"Do you own a golf club, Mr. Martin?" I asked him.

The man opposite raised his eyebrows a little and I swear I remember him giving me a small smirk. "Nope."

I let out a small sigh.

Not long after that we left, with Captain Simpson leaving behind his card (although it was in vain, because we both knew that Bailey wasn't going to call us), and then later that night, I received a call from the Captain, solemnly informing me that the judge didn't warrant an arrest for Bailey Martin.

Enraged, I inquired as to why, and he just said, "The judge wants us to find the murder weapon, which, in this case, would most likely be a bent golf club. However, the judge won't give us a search warrant, so I don't know what's going to happen."

"What if he confessed?" I asked angrily.

Captain Simpson laughed bitterly. "Well, yes, a confession would get him an arrest, but do you really think he would after the way he acted today?"

That night, I cried myself to sleep.


	5. Time Wears A Pretty Face

**AN:** Lala, an update. After this, there are only 3 chapters left. Well, 2 chapters and an epilogue, but yeah. And I'm writing a new story (a happy one – omgz) called _Home is Where the Heart is_ and I'll hopefully get it out within the next month. Just so you know, school starts for me on August 14th (yeah, I know, what the fuck) but once it starts I'll probably be writing a LOT less.

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_Time Wears A Pretty Face_

Time Wears A Pretty Face

A week went by and I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. We were so close to catching Gabriella's and Isabella's murderer, yet the stupid-ass judge wouldn't grant us an arrest until we found the murder weapon, which was near impossible. Or, of course, we could get a confession, but I definitely didn't think we were gonna get one.

It was now two weeks since the murder, and I didn't know what to do with myself. I was lonely, since all of my friends had gone back to their respective homes, and I didn't have anything to do. I was out of work until July, and I had no reason to go anywhere else. Why should I? Did I really have anything to live for?

I voiced this theory to Chad one night, and the very next day Jason and Kelsi had shown up. They had been told by Chad that I was possibly suicidal, and, since he couldn't get off work and Taylor had to take care of Caleb, he'd sent them over to stay with me for a while. I told them I didn't need anyone to stay with me, but they wouldn't hear any of it. They told me that all of them – meaning, our group of friends – had discussed it, and decided that one of them would be staying with me at all times. I wasted no time in telling them how grateful I was.

And then, on the three week anniversary of the murders, I got the phone call that would start the next phase in my life. Kelsi and Jason had gone home the day before and Zeke had arrived that morning with Tony, since Sharpay couldn't get off due to her new show's rehearsals.

At the time of the call, Zeke had been cooking one of his famous dishes while his son helped him out by getting ingredients as I watched longingly. Oh, how I wished I could've had the privilege of doing that with my daughter!

The phone rang and I answered it, immediately recognizing the Australian accent on the other line. "Hello, is this Troy Bolton?"

"Christina Martin?" I asked, stunned.

"Yes, it's me," she said. She sounded uncomfortable and nervous.

"Um, how'd you get this number?" I inquired her, when she didn't speak.

She cleared her throat. "They gave it to me from the station. I told them I needed to speak to you about your wife and daughter."

"What?" I snapped. "Do you know something?"

"Yes," she said, her voice quiet. I pressed the phone closely to my ear to hear her better. "Bailey's out right now, so I have to make this quick – if he comes home and finds me-," She started to sound hysterical.

"Shh, shh, Miss Martin, please, calm down," I said quietly. "Please, just tell me what you know."

"Okay," Christina took a deep breath before plowing on. "You see, I knew something was up by the way Bailey was talking to you. And then he lied – he loves to golf and he _definitely_ knew about your wife and daughter, because I've watched every single report on them. Now that I think about it, I don't know how I didn't recognize you. But anyway," the woman sounded extremely flustered. "When you guys left I asked me why he lied but he wouldn't tell me. I pestered him about if for about a week before he told me."

"What did you tell you?" I asked urgently.

"Everything," she said softly.

I was about to open my mouth and encourage more out of her, but before I could say anything I heard a door slam on the other end of the line. "Hey, Chrissy, I'm back."

"Oh, hey Bailey!" she called, and I could detect the faint note of fear in her voice.

"Who are you on the phone with?" I heard the man ask, sounding like he was near Christina.

"Oh, um, just Jessie," said Christina hurriedly. "Hey, Jessie?" She said into the phone. "Sorry, I gotta go. How about I, um, come over to your house tomorrow?"

"Sure," I said, immensely disappointed that I still didn't know what Bailey told Christina, but excited to know that I was going to find out the next day.

"See you later!" said Christina perkily before hanging up.

I slowly set the phone down on the receiver. "What was that?" asked Zeke, causing me to jump. I'd forgotten he was there.

I turned to see him staring intently at me, his son slowly mixing the batter of Zeke's complicated recipe, his tongue between his teeth with intense concentration. "Remember I told you about Bailey Martin?"

Zeke perked up. "Did they finally arrest him?"

I shook my head. "No, that was his sister. She called and said that she knew Bailey was lying and he told her 'everything.'"

"What's everything?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Bailey came home before she could finish explaining. But she's coming over tomorrow."

"When?"

I shrugged again.

"Does she know where you live?"

I shook my head. "No, but she can probably find out from the police station."

Sure enough, the next day around five p.m., Captain Simpson called and told me that Christina Martin wanted my address. He said that she wouldn't tell him why. I instructed him to give it to her and that I would explain why as soon as I could.

So at around 5:15, Christina arrived just as Zeke, Caleb, and I were finishing dinner. Christina glanced awkwardly at Zeke when she walked inside before saying, "Oh, I, uh, didn't know you had company."

I glanced at Zeke pointedly. "Oh, well, I was just, um, gonna bathe my son," he said quickly. "Don't mind me." Zeke slung his son over his shoulder and tickled him as they walked upstairs to the bathroom.

Christina and I sat down on my couch. After declining refreshments, I got straight to the point. "What did you mean, Bailey told you 'everything'?"

She took a deep breath and swallowed before answering. "Well, he basically... confessed to me."

"Confessed _what_ to you?" I urged.

"The murder... on your wife and daughter," she whispered.

There was a long silence, broken by me when I said, my throat tight, "Well, go on. Please, tell me everything."

She took another deep breath before explaining, "Bailey is a little unstable, to start off. As a child, he was particularly violent and my parents didn't want to treat it for fear that he was be labelled 'insane.' My parents were very worried about what other people thought of us."

"How was he violent?" I asked, perplexed.

Christina sighed. "Well, other children always picked on him, and after it would build up for a while he'd hit other kids. Our parents always were able to wrangle him out of suspension, until one incident in junior high where he punched a girl in the stomach for turning him down."

My mouth fell open in shock and horror.

She nodded glumly. "Yes, it was pretty terrible. After that my parents took him out of school and hired a private tutor for him. Shortly after I graduated school and he received his GED, our parents died. This was five years ago, and right afterwards we moved here from Australia. Bailey got a job at the local Wal-Mart and I went to university on my parents inheritance money. I graduated last year and have been working as an Administrative Assistant for about a year now. Life seemed normal to me. I thought we were finally happy." She stopped, taking a deep, shaking breath.

"Christina," I leaned forward and rested my hand on her knee. She looked in my eyes, and I saw fear. "Christina, you have to tell me. This is my wife and daughter. If your brother killed them, I need to know."

She let out a small cry. "But, it's just – he's my brother!" she wailed. "I don't want him to get into trouble!"

"Is that really what's bothering you?" I asked skeptically. "Or are you afraid of what he'll do to you?"

Christina shot him a look. "I'm not afraid!" she said a little too quickly, her voice squeaking. I remember raising my eyebrows at her before she relented. "Well, okay, yes. But you'd be mad too if your own sister blabbed about you murdering someone, wouldn't you?"

I shrugged. "Well, I don't have a sister. However, I do have friends who are like sisters to me and even if I could murder someone, I wouldn't want to put them in that position."

She was silent.

"Christina, please, tell me. If you tell me, we can go to the police and Bailey will be arrested. He won't be able to do anything to you. And if you're still worried police officers will protect you. But I _need_ to know this. One of the things that's tearing me up inside is not knowing who could do this awful thing to my two biggest loves, and you have the answer." I pleaded at her with my eyes.

She closed her eyes, took yet another deep breath, before giving in. "He told me that he saw your wife at the grocery store a few days before the murder. He didn't know he was your wife. He asked her out and she turned him down, but he didn't know that it was because she was married. It was too much for him. He had never had a girlfriend before and your wife turning him down was the last straw, I guess." Christina opened her eyes, tears pouring down. "I went to the movies with my girlfriend the night of the murder. He explained to me that he'd followed your wife home after seeing her at the store, so he drove there that night with his golf club. He told me he wasn't intending on hurting her, he just wanted to 'threaten her' into going out with him," Christina continued, using air-quotes. She shook her head miserably. She hiccuped from the crying. "He said that if she wasn't home he was going to wait for her and surprise her. But she was there... he found her upstairs changing your daughter's diaper."

My throat constricted and I broke out into a sweat. My eyes filled up with tears; I was finally about to find out exactly what happened that night.

Christina spoke with a squeak. "Bailey said he held the golf club like a bat and made her go into the master bedroom. He kept telling her to put the baby down but she wouldn't let go. He started to wrestle your daughter from her. She was screaming and trying to kick him. But he got Isabella away first... and threw her against the wall."

I gagged in horror. Gulping, I reached next to me for the empty living room trash can, just in case.

"The baby fell on the bed and your wife freaked out. She was screaming and crying and hitting my brother, trying to get him out of her way, probably so she could get to her baby. But my brother started to hit her and beat her with the golf club... the baby was screaming... He told me he beat your wife for about five minutes before she fell unconscious... then he stripped off all of her clothes and raped her..."

I couldn't take it. I leaned over and threw up in the trash can. I'd vomited so much within the past few weeks that some people would probably think I had an eating disorder.

Christina jumped up and cried, "Oh, my gosh, are you okay?"

I nodded weakly; my hands and face were clammy with cold sweat but I still opened my mouth to tell her, "Keep going."

"Are you sure?" she asked nervously.

I nodded again.

"Well, okay..." She sat back down. "And then, he said he hadn't been planning on killing the baby except it wouldn't stop crying... so he started to beat her too... he said her raped her and even put him in her mouth to try and muffle her cries..." She let out a sob and I threw up again. She stopped her story and said, "Are you sure you're okay?"

I spit into the trash can and said hoarsely, "Yes, just ignore me. Keep going."

She let out a shaky breath and another tear trickled down her face. "He said he hit her longer because it took forever for her to stop crying. Finally she stopped crying and he freaked out and left. He wasn't sure if they were dead or not until he saw it on the news later that night."

Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I said, "Gabriella wasn't dead when he left. She was still alive and she crawled over to be with Isabella before she died. Instead of calling 911, she wrote me a note that said 'I love you Troy.'"

Christina clapped a hand to her mouth and tears started to pour out of her eyes. "Troy, I am so, so-,"

I shook my head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Bailey should be sorry. I'm glad you told me. Now, you just have to tell the police-,"

"No!" she shrieked, jumping up again. I gave her a look before standing up slowly as well.

"What?"

"No, I can't tell them!" she cried hysterically.

"And why not?" I asked angrily.

"Because then Bailey will know I told!"

I sighed irritably. "It won't matter, because he'll be in jail and he won't be getting out."

"How do you know?" she shouted.

"How would he get out?" I roared. "No one's going to pay the bail! We have DNA evidence against him! We have your word against him! What more do you need?"

"The murder weapon!" Christina countered. "We need the murder weapon!"

I paused, knowing she was right. So I asked her, "Do you know where it is?"

She nodded slowly. "He told me he hid it under his bed. It's under a blanket."

I walked towards Christina and put my hands on her shoulders. "Christina, I need you to get that golf club for me. I need it. Your brother has to pay for what he did. He may never forgive you, but how would you feel in thirty years knowing you'd kept this horrible secret?"

She didn't answer, because she knew I was right.

"Please, Christina. Bring the murder weapon to the police and tell them everything you told me. Then Bailey will be brought to justice for murdering my family."


	6. And I Love Her

**AN:** Well, I don't really have anything to say except that it's 1 a.m. here and I'm on chapter 3 of my new story. Enjoy!

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_And I Love Her_

And I Love Her

After Christina went home, I have to admit that I had my serious doubts over the next few days about whether or not she was actually going to pull through. I could tell that this was difficult for her; having to turn your brother in for murder is definitely no easy feat. The way she acted at my house and over the phone led me to believe that perhaps she would back out. But, four days later, I realized I was wrong.

Christina called me sometime in the late afternoon, and as soon as I answered it, she whispered, "I've got it," in a terrified voice.

My heart leapt up into my throat. "Okay, Christina, is he there?" I asked, taking charge.

"No," she said in a soft, shaky voice.

"Alright, I want you to leave _now,_" I instructed her, talking fast. "Drive down the police station with the murder weapon right away. I'll meet you there. Come now, in case Bailey gets home. Hurry."

"Okay," she said simply before hanging up.

I set the phone down slowly, digesting what had just happened. When it finally hit me that Bailey Martin was most likely about to get arrested, I tore up stairs and into my room to get my shoes.

"Troy? What's up?" Ryan asked, poking his head inside my room. Zeke and Tony had left two days earlier, to be replaced with Ryan and Riley.

"Christina called," I explained breathlessly as I jammed my feet into a pair of tennis shoes. "She got the weapon. I'm gonna meet her at the police station."

Ryan's eyes widened. "Well, we're coming with you!" He exclaimed. "Hey, Riley!" He called down the hall. "We're going to the police station!"

Riley padded down the hall in her socks, yawning from just having woken up from a nap. "Why?" she asked groggily.

"Christina got the murder weapon," said Ryan simply.

She gasped. "Oh, my God!" She turned around and tore back to the guest room. "I just need to change really quick!"

The three of us got down to the station about ten minutes later. When I told Captain Simpson that Christina had the murder weapon and a statement, his eyes widened, and he left to get an interrogation room open.

We waited, sitting on a few seats next to the door, for about a few minutes before Ryan said, "Man, where is she?"

"She lives a half an hour away," I reassured him. "Don't worry, she'll be here."

And sure enough, she swaggered in ten minutes later, clutching a fluffy, powder-blue baby blanket which was covering something. "Christina!" I cried, relieved.

I led her to Captain Simpson, who in turn showed her into the interrogation room. Since Ryan, Riley, and I were not police officers or lawyers, we weren't allowed to be in the room with her. Before we were led off to the adjoining room, I reminded Christina to please do what was right; I was afraid she'd break down and refuse to tell anything else.

We watched him through the window in the adjoining room as Captain Simpson talked to her. She unwrapped the blanket to reveal a severely blood-stained golf club that was bent in about five different places. I pursed my lips and closed my eyes briefly after seeing it, taking deep breaths before I could open my eyes again. Christina explained that Bailey had told her where the murder weapon was during his confession to her, and she'd retrieved it immediately after he left earlier that day. When asked if Bailey knew she was out, she answered that she'd written him a note saying she'd gone to the gym with a friend.

After that she told the Captain the exact same story she'd told me about how her brother had killed my wife and daughter. At some point in the story I felt myself needing to sit down, for my legs had turned to jell-o. As I listened, biting my lip painfully, a million thoughts were running through my mind. But the one I really remember was: we've got him.

Two hours later, the interrogation was finally done. Captain Simpson went to file the report right away so they could have the arrest warrant as early as the next day. Christina was afraid to go home, so I allowed her stay the night at my house. She asked if she could stay there until Bailey was arrested and I said yes.

She called her brother when we got to my home and explained what she was spending the night at a friend's house. She got some pajamas from Riley and slept on the living room couch.

I couldn't sleep that night. I remember lying in bed, thinking about things that I can't recall, before getting up to get some water at around 2:30.

The light was on in the kitchen when I entered it. I found Christina sitting at my table, a glass of water clutched in her hands, with her head bent. I cleared my throat, and her head snapped up.

"Sorry!" she whispered. "I hope I didn't wake you..."

"No, no, you didn't," I assured her, retrieving a glass from the cupboard and filling it up with tap water. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," She sighed, taking a drink of her water. "I can't believe Bailey would do something like this," she stated suddenly.

I didn't say anything.

"I mean, I knew he was violent, but... _murder?_" she whispered, looking at me. "_Rape?_ I just want to ask him why. How could he do something like this and not be traumatized by it?"

I shrugged. "I know that I'll be asking him why."

She sniffed, tears starting to leak out of her eyes. "I hate having to do this. I know it's the right thing... but..." She shuddered. "Turning in my brother for murder and testifying against him was something I _never_ thought I'd have to do..."

I leaned forward and gripped her shoulder. "I know it must be hard for you. I understand. But, please, don't back out."

Christina shook her head furiously, tear droplets flying onto the linoleum floor.. "I won't. Of course not. I can't even begin to imagine the pain _you're_ going through. At least Bailey is still alive, whereas your loved ones aren't."

Throat tight, I nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry for what my brother did, Troy," she said quietly, her voice cracking from crying. "I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "You didn't do anything..."

"Exactly," she sobbed. "I should've talked to my parents about getting him medicated. I should've done it when they died. But we just let it boil up inside him... we should've known that some day he would just explode..."

I remember not answering her, because the same thoughts had been floating around my brain for a while. If only Christina's parents hadn't been so consumed with what people thought of them, then maybe Gabriella and Isabella would still be alive...

However, I forced myself not to think that way. There was no use in thinking about what might have been. No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't change what had happened. Christina's parents _didn't_ medicate Bailey, Bailey _did_ go over the edge and murder my family, and the only thing I could do about it now was to make sure that Bailey gets put in jail for the rest of his life.

The next day Captain Simpson called to tell me they'd gotten the arrest warrant. He and two other squad cars came by my house to pick up me and Christina to join them in the arrest while Ryan and Riley remained at my house. Christina claimed she wanted to try and apologize to Bailey for doing what she did, although I had my doubts that he would listen as he was being arrested.

And I was right. Captain Simpson and two other officers knocked on the front door while Christina and I stayed in the backseat of one of the police cars. When Bailey opened the door, we saw the four of them exchange a couple of words before Bailey executed a punch towards Captain Simpson. Christina screamed.

The Captain ducked and the other two officers pounced, eventually pinning Bailey to the ground and handcuffing him. They slowly made their way towards another police car, Bailey still struggling to get free.

Christina opened the door and we heard Bailey shouting, "... no other proof that I even did anything! Do you have a weapon? Huh?"

"Yes, we do!" yelled the Captain. "We have the golf club."

Bailey stopped cold, staring at him. "What?" he said in horror. "Wait, you don't have a search warrant. Did you break into my house? That's illegal, man!"

"No one broke into the house, Bailey!" called Christina, stepping out of the car. She leaned against the open door and I stood up behind her.

His head whipped around. His eyes found Christina's and he stared at her, anger flaring in his eyes, before screaming, "Christina, how could you?" he roared, spitting in anger. "I'm your brother! _I'm your fucking brother!_"

"Bailey, I'm sorry!" Christina said weakly, starting to cry. "I'm so sorry Bailey, but you killed two people! I couldn't let you get away with it, no matter how much I love you!"

"You liar!" shrieked Bailey, struggling against the officers to try and get to his sister. Two more officers had to run over and assist. "You fucking bitch! I can't believe you! You told them everything, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU!"

Christina sobbed, "Bailey, please, I'm sorry!"

"FUCK YOU, CHRISTINA!" Bailey shouted as they managed to force him into the police car. The shut the door, and even though we couldn't hear anything more, we could see his mouth moving furiously as he glared at them through the rear window. Christina collapsed and started to cry in the gutter. I awkwardly bent down and patted her on the back until the Captain came over and told us we were heading back to the station.

"Is-is there any chance he'll g-get out?" Christina hiccuped as we got back into the car.

"Probably not," said Captain Simpson as we started to drive. "Usually in murder cases, the bail is set at a high price, or there isn't one at all."

Christina nodded tearfully. "I just hope he doesn't get out and try to kill me..."'

The Captain shook his head. "He won't be getting out any time soon. He'll be in jail at least until the trial is over, which could very well be years from now. And that's only if he's found innocent, but most likely that won't happen."

We arrived at the station and they led Bailey into an interrogation room. Even though he was handcuffed, he still needed to have to officers hold him down while the Captain questioned him. Once again, I watched the interrogation in the adjoining room, this time joined by Christina.

"Bailey, did you kill Gabriella and Isabella Bolton?" asked the Captain.

Bailey just stared defiantly at him. "I'm not answering any questions without my lawyer."

The Captain sighed irritably. "Come on, Bailey, we know you did it. Your sister told us you confessed it to her."

The other man just smirked, surprisingly calm. "How do you know she's not lying?"

Christina gasped loudly, staring at her brother incredulously.

"She brought us the murder weapon from under your bed," Captain Simpson told him.

Bailey shrugged. "Maybe she didn't really find it there."

The Captain sighed again, in annoyance. "Bailey, we've already phoned her friend, who confirmed that at the time of the murder the two of them were at the movies. You, however, we do not have an alibi for. Care to tell us one?"

Bailey didn't say anything more on the matter. "I won't say anything else without my lawyer."

Captain Simpson stared him down for a moment, before saying to the other officers, "Get him outta here."

As they were leading Bailey out of the room, Christina turned to me and said, "Troy, I hope you don't believe what Bailey said, I swear I didn't-,"

"I know you didn't kill them," I interrupted her. "Don't worry."

A few minutes later, a police officer dropped me off at my house and then left to drop Christina off at her own house. When I opened the door, Ryan and Riley bombarded me with questions.

"Did you guys get him?"

"What happened?"

"Why were you gone for so long?"

I patiently explained to them what had happened at the station before calling Maria.

"Troy?" asked Maria weakly. "Is that you?"

"Hey, Maria," I said. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine..."

I pursed my lips. "You don't sound fine."

"Well, I am!" She snapped, which took me by surprise. In all the years I'd known Maria, I'd never heard her snap like that before.

"Okay... well, I just wanted to call and tell you that there's been an arrest."

"An arrest?" she repeated.

"Yeah. His name is Bailey Martin."

"Thank God..." she whispered. "Troy, is it okay if I come down? I need company."

"Of course," I told her. "Come on down. You're always welcome."

"Thanks, Troy. You're a great son."


	7. Memories Remain

**AN:** Tralalalala, singin' in the rain! Okay. So there's only 1 more chapter after this, the epilogue. This story, kinda like _Time Will Tell_, just kinda trickles off at the end. There's no real huge climax or anything.

And speaking of _Time Will Tell_, for those of you who read it and would like a sequel, I have a title: _Life Goes On_. The title may change, but whatever. I don't really have a plot yet either but, knowing me, someone will die. :-)

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_Memories Remain_

Memories Remain

A little over week later, the day marking the five weeks since the murders, I got a call from the Captain telling me that a bail hearing was scheduled for Bailey at 1:00 p.m. Maria, who'd been staying with me for a week, and I decided to attend.

We got there five minutes before it was due to start, and the Captain told us that Bailey's lawyers were requesting bail under the circumstances that Christina was insane and her word wasn't to be trusted. I remember feeling my stomach drop; I hoped the judge wouldn't fall for that.

When Maria and I got there, we saw Christina was in attendance as well. We sat next to her and I noticed that she was a wreck. Her eyes where puffy and red from, most likely, constant crying and she wasn't wearing any makeup. She gave me a small smile before the hearing started.

After the judge entered, Bailey's attorney stood up and started speaking. "Your honor, the counsel representing Bailey Martin would like to request bail under the circumstances that there is no real evidence in the case against my client."

The prosecution attorney shot up and countered, "Your honor, the Los Angeles Police Department had found three separate samples of DNA evidence against Mr. Martin, in addition to the murder weapon recovered from under the suspects bed and a confession from the suspect to the suspect's sister."

Bailey's lawyer fired back, "Your honor, it seems substantial to point out that, according to my client, Miss Martin is very unstable and that there was, in fact, no confession of any kind."

The judge spoke up, "That still leaves the murder weapon in question that was found under Mr. Martin's bed."

"Your honor, my client claims to never have played golf before in his life and does not own any golf clubs," the defense attorney answered.

"Your honor, according to Mr. Martin's previous records, Mr. Martin has been an advent golf player for the past three years. And according to Mr. Martin's sister, the suspect owns around seven golf clubs."

The defense attorney said, "Your honor, this goes back to Miss Martin being unstable-,"

"Even _if_ Miss Martin is unstable," the judge interrupted. "Then where did the murder weapon come from?"

"Your honor, Miss Martin was in fact the one who murdered Gabriella and Isabella Bolton, not my client-,"

The prosecution attorney roared in protest, "Your honor, we have confirmed word that Miss Martin was at the movie theatre with her friend, a Miss Jessie Peoples, at the time the murder was occurring. Mr. Martin, however, has no substantial alibi to explain where he was during the night's events-,"

"Alright, I've heard enough," the judge slammed his mallet against the desk. "Bail denied. Bailiff, please return Mr. Martin to his cell. Next case."

I looked over at Christina, who was once again crying, and she glanced at me. "I can't believe my own brother could say that stuff about me. He's probably trying to get back at me for turning him in..."

"Well, at least he was denied bail," I said, trying to cheer her up.

She gave me a watery smile. "Yeah, I guess."

That night, the murders were on the news again. Maria and I watched as they showed a clip of the attorney's arguing before switching it off. The two of us stumbled into bed, although neither getting much sleep.

Nothing extremely important happened in my life for the next few months, except my retiring from basketball. The training season started a couple months after the bail hearing, in the middle of July, but everything about the sport had lost its spark, so I resigned from the team in August. I knew what a life-altering decision it was, especially after my father yelled about it over the phone to me after ESPN reported it, but I didn't care. Basketball just wasn't important anymore without Gabriella.

I got a job at a bank, working regular hours, from 9 to 5. I wasn't paid nearly as much as I was in the NBA, but I was only supporting one person now.

Maria had returned back to San Diego shortly after the bail hearing and was diagnosed in September with lung cancer, never having having smoked a day in her life. I flew down for a weekend to be with her, but the truth was that I couldn't get enough time off and she wasn't allowed to come down here. I'd already taken off a few days in August to see Jason and Kelsi's baby daughter, who they'd named Gabrielle, so I'd used almost all of my vacation days.

I started to get back into the flow of life as time went by. I never stopped thinking about Gabriella and Isabella, though, and I visited their grave sites every week. I usually brought flowers, but sometimes I came without gifts, just to talk. I would talk to them about life, and sometimes would find myself sobbing when I remembered what should have been Isabella's first birthday passed.

Engraved on their gravestones were their names, date of birth, and death. I hated having to look at Isabella's and see how little she'd been alive for. Also engraved on Gabriella's stone were the lyrics, "There's not a star in heaven that we can't reach," which were a set of lyrics that we'd sang together in a musical, and on Isabella's gravestone, the lyrics, "I've finally found what I've been looking for," which were from another song that Gabriella and I had sang together. It was also Isabella's favorite song.

I also kept in touch with Christina. She was extremely traumatized and paranoid about her brother, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night, fearing he was coming for her. I allowed her to call me in the middle of the night to talk to me, to cry, to gush about her worries and nightmares. She allowed me to do the same with her, if ever I had terrible nightmares about the murders.

Bailey's trial finally started, on November 15th, 2018. He was being charged with two counts of third-degree murder and, if convicted, could possibly face the death penalty, which he pleaded not guilty to. Luckily my boss allowed me to work from home at nights, so I could attend the trial every day.

Maria was finally able to get permission from her doctors to be treated down here so she could attend the trial whenever possible. She stayed with me and I helped her around the house, doing various things for her, including driving her to the hospital for chemotherapy treatments. I even tried to help out with her medical payments, but most of the time she refused to take money from me.

The trial lasted six months. Christina, the key witness, was on the stand for a month, being re-questioned over and over again. The defense tried to find a flaw in her story, convinced that she was unstable or guilty herself. But she was able to give an accurate statement, and flawless story, and I'm pretty sure she was what closed the case.

The case, like the murders, was widely televised. People magazine did weekly updates on it, and I was constantly getting calls from various TV shows to interview me; I finally accepted one. I spoke on Nancy Grace's show, as she was constantly doing stories on the murders. I managed not to cry on camera, but as soon as my interview was over, I broke down.

My friends flew down whenever possible to attend the trial, but because of work, none of them could attend to whole thing.

I gave a statement in the court and, as luck would have it, it occurred on April 10th, the one-year anniversary of Gabriella's and Isabella's death. I'd written down a speech, but once I'd stood up to recite it, I started to speak from my heart. Corny as they may sound, it's true. I didn't need a speech.

Maria sat to my right, silently crying, while my parents sat on my other side. Ryan and Riley were in attendance as well, and were seated behind me.

"I met Gabriella in high school, when I was only fifteen," I started. I still remember every word of what I said, and not because every magazine printed the story and every news station and talk show showed me reciting it, but because it was one of the most touching, and hardest, things I've ever had to say in my entire life. "I loved her more than anything, but, thinking realistically, I don't think anyone ever thought it would go past high school." I remember sneaking a glance at my father. "But it did. Coincidentally, all of our friends from high school ended up staying together and getting married." I took a deep, shaky breath. "I loved Gabriella, and our daughter, Isabella, more than anything else in this world. I shouldn't be here. You know where I should be right now?" I looked at Bailey and didn't lift my gaze from him, even after he looked away from me. "I should be on the road with the Lakers. They're in Oregon right now, getting ready for a game tonight. I should be there right now, warming up, while thinking about when I can get the hell out of there to spend time with my beautiful wife and our 21-month-old daughter. That's where I should be. I shouldn't be here, speaking at their murder trial, crying myself to sleep every night, visiting their graves every week."

I paused and took a deep breath, willing myself not to break down. All the anger and other emotions I'd been feeling for this man were finally starting to pour out of me, and at the time I wasn't sure if they even made sense. I was just talking.

"Why did you have to do it, Bailey?" It was the first time I'd ever asked him that, even though I'd been wanting to for so long. I'd dreamt about it for months, and now I was finally doing it. "Why? You ruined so many people. I'm a ruined man because of you, and I'm only twenty-nine. Exactly one year ago today, they were both still alive, but they didn't know they only had a few hours left to live. They didn't know that somewhere, a man was plotting to break into their house and murder them. I don't care if that wasn't your overall plan, you still did it. You still ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it a thousand times, mercilessly. But no, you didn't just ruin me. You ruined my parents. You ruined my mother-in-law. You ruined all our friends. My friends children are still asking where Isabella is. They want to play with her. They don't understand she's dead and won't come back. And in a few years, they'll forget her completely."

There was a long silence. I was still staring determinedly at Bailey until he finally looked back at me. And as I stared into his eyes, I saw that he wasn't sorry at all. He was just sorry he'd been caught.

"I've never, personally, been for the death penalty before," I growled. "But that was until I had the two more important people in my life ripped so violently and suddenly away from me. And now? I'm all for it. I hope justice is served for what you did. I hope you're found guilty and sentenced to death so you can burn in hell for all eternity."

I sat back down. I could no longer control my emotions, for I leaned forward and started to cry silently into my hands. My parents, Maria, Ryan, and Riley all leaned towards me and patted me on the back, all of them crying softly themselves and telling me how great I'd been.

A month later, May 16th, 2019, Bailey was found guilty of both charges and the jury recommended the death penalty. The trial to determine if he ended up with life or death was held from June until September, and the judge ultimately sentenced Bailey to death.

Maria passed away in October of that year, after suffering from lung cancer for over a year. I didn't know why she let go so easily, but now I realize that she didn't have any more reason to live. Her husband had died when Gabriella was a baby, and now her only daughter and grandchild were dead. What more did she have?

I was with her as she passed; it was what she wanted. I was the last person left in the world that she loved, she'd said, and requested for me to be with her. I remember holding her hand as she died.

The only reason she'd hung on as long as she did was to see justice served. She'd stayed alive long enough to see Bailey sentenced rightfully to death for Gabriella's and Isabella's murders, and now she could go join them in heaven.


	8. Epilogue

**AN:** I've been sick and, even though I just got it, I've been spending a lot of time on AIM, since I'm super bored. Sooo if you have AIM, please IM me at MadiWillow (how do I come up with these things?). Don't worry, I'm friendly. ;-)

I was supposed to wait until tonight to post this chapter, but, alas, I'm busy. So you guys get it earlier as opposed to later! Yay!

The last chapter! -cries- Another story completed... I always feel good when I complete a story. I don't know why.

Well, read and review!

**Title: **_Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story  
_**Rating:** _T  
_**Author: **_MadiWillow  
_**Summary: **_A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.  
_**Genre:** _Drama/Tragedy  
_**Chapter: **_Epilogue_

Epilogue

I'm now an old man fifty-seven, and I feel as though I've lived my life to the fullest I possibly could have. I've made damn sure that no one in this world will ever forget what happened to my wife and daughter by starting SWH, the Society for Widowed Husbands, or, as it's more commonly been known, the Gabriella and Isabella Foundation.

In the years after Bailey's sentencing, I gave many interviews, deciding that if people wanted to hear about me, why not let them? I have been interviewed by Meredith Vieira for Dateline, Lesley Stahl for 60 Minutes, and Larry King for Larry King Live, among others. In addition, Primetime did an hour-long special on the case and I was interviewed for it, along with Christina Martin and a couple of mine and Gabriella's friends, by Cynthia McFadden. Christina and I also conducted interviews with People magazine, although not at the same time.

Christina and I have remained very good friends up until this day. She is now married with a family, but we still keep in touch and talk to each other if we're having problems. She has not seen nor spoken to her brother since his final sentencing, and tells me that she's happy she did the right thing and testified against him.

All of my friends are married with families as well. Some of them are even grandparents, and I try and visit them as much as I can. I'm an old man living all alone; I need some company every once in a while.

Gabriella's and Isabella's murders aren't the only troubles I've had in life, sadly. Ten years ago, both my parents were killed in a car accident. That was extremely difficult; all of my family were now gone. Yet, I was able to get through with it the same way I got through my wife's and daughter's; with the satisfaction that I'll see them again some day.

And that day may come sooner than I thought. Not many people are aware, but for the last year I've been suffering from throat cancer. I lost my ability to talk six months ago, which drove me to write this book. If I can no longer talk, the best way to leave my thoughts and memories behind are to put my words on paper.

I'm not sure if I'll ever see the day where Bailey is finally executed, but at the same time, I don't really care. He's still appealing the case, thirty years later, but I seriously doubt he's going to get his sentence changed after all this time. As long as he's in jail, and everyone knows what a monster he is, I'm content.

And now, as I sit here in my office, in my lonely house writing this book, I can finally say that I'm satisfied with how my life turned out. Of course, I would trade anything to have Gabriella sitting next to me right now, possibly watching our grandchildren, but that won't happen. I've come to realize that I can't change the past. But considering the direction my life went in, I'm proud to say that I was able to make the best of it.

_Editor's Note: Mr. Troy Bolton died shortly before his book was due to be published. The publishing company had planned to pull the plug on the book, until Mr. Bolton's will was discovered. He requested the book still be published and all proceeds be donated to The Gabriella and Isabella Foundation._


End file.
